On the Schelling-Schopenhauer-Nietzsche

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“Chasing a Janus Footnote in Schopenhauer’s PPII: On the Schelling-Schopenhauer- Nietzsche Thread

Adrian Del Caro, University of Tennessee

The detection and proper notation of instances of intertextuality pose a challenge to any translator, but what concerns me even more is the kind of borrowing frequently done by

Nietzsche, whereby cultural or literary antecedents are not acknowledged. The field of German

Studies in the modern era, beginning roughly with early Goethe, offers rich evidence of overlapping circles of contact and intellectual-historical continuities. In this paper I will discuss one specific case of intertextuality involving Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, and Schelling, whose point of departure is Schopenhauer’s footnote on Janus in chapter 16 of Parerga and

Paralipomena II. In the case of Nietzsche’s often deliberately disguised or masked relationship to Romantic predecessors, the problem of intertextuality looms large for translation and for the history of philosophy, as seen for instance in the word Übermensch. Goethe put the term

Übermensch into currency for the modern era, yet Nietzsche is mistakenly regarded as the inventor of the term now known to most English speakers as “overman” and “superman.” In the example of Nietzsche’s term das Ur-Eine, which I am translating as “the primal unity,” I hope to unravel some of the thread that connects Schelling, Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, for the sake of a better understanding of the primal unity itself and toward contributing to best practices for translating terms whose modern usage arises in Romanticism.

The stance adopted by Nietzsche with respect to Schelling was essentially

Schopenhauer’s, i. e., it was dismissive. Schelling was regarded as a corrupter of Kantian philosophy, frequently cited along with others as a “church father” and theologian, an idealist- romantic, but these charges are without any real engagement of Schelling’s thought, let alone his texts. He is mentioned frequently, but nowhere is there detail regarding his views. When

Schopenhauer writes about Schelling, he uses invectives and pejoratives, but unlike Nietzsche, he demonstrates a familiarity with Schelling’s writings. In Parerga and Paralipomena II, in the chapter “Remarks on Sanskrit Literature,” Schopenhauer speculates: “Could it be that Janus (on whom Schelling* just gave an academic lecture and declared him to be the primal unity is Yama the god of death who has two faces, and sometimes four? In times of war the gates of death are opened. ” From here Schopenhauer uses a footnote to elaborate: “Schelling’s explanation of

Janus (in the Berlin Academy) is that he signifies “chaos as primal unity.” (Schopenhauer, II, p.

442) Aside from the fact that both Schelling and Schopenhauer offer competing accounts of the etymology of Janus, what interests me are the terms “Ur-Eins” used by Schopenhauer, and

“Ureinheit” used by Schelling.

The first of these terms is rendered by Schopenhauer’s translator E. F. J. Payne as “the primary and original One” (Payne, 402), the second, which is essentially the same term, is rendered as “primary unity.” In my forthcoming Cambridge UP translation I use “primal unity” for both terms, harking forward to Nietzsche’s The Birth of Tragedy, where a very similar concept is referred to as “das Ur-Eine.” Of course today’s readers will be more familiar with

Nietzsche’s expression, even though Schopenhauer used it earlier and Schelling apparently used it even before Schopenhauer. Kaufmann rendered this expression as “primordial unity,” and more recently Ronald Speirs followed through by translating it as primordial unity. Golfing

2 translated das Ur-Eine as “the primordial One,” which is potentially misleading since “One” connotes individuation as well as primordial oneness, which is supposed to connote the absence of individuation.

A considerable problem of translating the terms “das Ur-Eine,” “das Ur-Eins” and “die

Ureinheit” lies in establishing whether they are related, i. e., whether this particular nexus constitutes a case of intertextuality. We can safely conclude that Schopenhauer had knowledge of

Schelling’s text, so that his recasting of Schelling’s Ureinheit as das Ur-Eins does indeed look like a straight-forward transference: Schopenhauer refers to Schelling’s Ureinheit as das Ur-

Eins, taking the liberty of recoining Schelling’s coinage—but notably Schopenhauer does not dispute the terms itself, nor does he otherwise attempt to appropriate it. The matter is much more complicated by the time we get to Nietzsche’s use of das Ur-Eine throughout the The Birth of

Tragedy, but I would like to recommend that had Payne known of Nietzsche’s term, he would have known that the words Ur-Eins (Schopenhauer) and Ureinheit (Schelling) in fact referred to the same thing—he would have known because Nietzsche’s elevation of the term lifted it from relative obscurity in Schelling, elevating it to a concept rooted in the theoretical romanticism of the nineteenth century, especially romanticism’s fondness for mythology, a trait shared by all three thinkers. I do not mean to say that Nietzsche’s concept of das Ur-Eine is identical to

Schelling’s Ureinheit, because there are important distinctions to be made; on the whole, however, I think it is safe to say that Nietzsche was familiar with Schopenhauer’s use of the term, and very likely familiar with Schelling’s lecture on Janus, since Nietzsche after all was the classical philologist who would have reviewed the existing literature on Janus and Schelling’s equation of Janus with chaos. The translation of Schelling’s Ureinheit as “primal unity” poses no problem to a recent author on Schelling (Tyler Tritten, Beyond Presence, 262), arguably because

3 the many translations of Birth of Tragedy throughout the twentieth century have established the intertextual framework for “primal unity” as romantic material. It is also quite common these days to substitute “primal unity” for “primordial unity,” and to use these terms interchangeably.

The problem of recognizing the intellectual-historical kinship of Schopenhauer’s Ur-

Eins, Schelling’s Ureinheit, and Nietzsche’s das Ur-Eine is compounded by Schopenhauer’s dismissive stance on Schelling, and compounded once more by Nietzsche’s dismissive stance on both Schopenhauer and Schelling. It may be helpful to review some of the features of this

German philosophical debate of the 19th century, both to demonstrate how Nietzsche responds to his predecessors and in part to explain why Nietzsche and Schopenhauer would have been wary of acknowledging any borrowing of terms from Schelling in particular. For this we can go all the way back to Schopenhauer’s The World as Will and Representation, in which we find this passage detailing the pitfalls of obscure formulation in Kant:

But the greatest problem with Kant’s occasionally obscure delivery is that it acted as ‘an example whose vices are easy to imitate’ and was indeed misinterpreted to the point where it played the role of a corrupting authority. The public had been compelled to realize that what is obscure is not always senseless: so senseless things immediately took refuge behind obscure modes of presentation. Fichte was the first to seize upon this new privilege and make vigorous use of it; Schelling was at least his equal in this, and soon they both were overtaken by a host of hungry scribblers devoid of both spirit and honesty. (456)

Schopenhauer draws attention here to the negative historical consequences of Kant’s occasional obscurity, by underscoring how later philosophers were emboldened and their intellectual vices unleashed. Just a few pages later he remarks again on Fichte’s ability to fool the public “who took bad sophisms, pure hocus-pocus, and absurd claptrap for proof; so that he succeeded in attracting public attention away from Kant and towards himself, and directing German philosophy onto a path where it was later advanced by Schelling before finally achieving its goal

4 in the absurd Hegelian pseudosagicity” (464). This criticism of Schelling’s style is likewise found in The Two Fundamental Problems of Ethics, where Schopenhauer twice accuses

Schelling of using his own sophistry and eloquence to merely rephrase Kant’s thoughts on human freedom, all the while making it seem that he, Schelling is the author of these thoughts

(97, 173-74). Returning now to the notion that Kant’s weaknesses and false assumptions spawned an entire movement of faulty reasoning and philosophical hocus-pocus, in Ethics

Schopenhauer had this to say also:

. . . out of the strict, austere critical philosophy there sprang doctrines most heterogeneous to it, doctrines of a reason that at first just faintly ‘detected’, then clearly ‘perceived’, and finally had full-bodied ‘intellectual intuition of’ the ‘supersensible’, a reason whose ‘absolute’ utterances and revelations, i.e., those produce from the tripod, every phantasist could now make out his own reveries to be. This new privilege was openly used. Here lies the origin of that philosophical method that arose immediately after Kant’s teaching, that consists in mystifying, impressing, deceiving, throwing sand in the eyes and being a windbag, the method whose epoch the history of philosophy will one day refer to under the title ‘Period of Dishonesty’. ( 148-49)

With these Schopenhauerian criticisms in mind, focusing as they do on the notion that Kant’s stylistic and philosophical lapses gave rise to an entire industry of philosophical obfuscation in the persons of Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel, let’s now look closely at Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil § 11, at its overall message and the rhetorical strategies it employs:

How are synthetic judgments a priori possible, Kant asked himself — and what did he answer really? By virtue of a faculty: but unfortunately not in five words but so ceremoniously, reverentially, and with such a dose of German profundity and flourish that people failed to hear the amusing niaiserie allemande that lies in such an answer. People were in fact beside themselves over this new faculty, and the jubilation reached its peak when Kant discovered an additional moral faculty in human beings: — for back then Germans were still moral, and not yet “real-political” by any means. — Then came the honeymoon of German philosophy; all the young theologians of the Tübingen seminary rushed into the bushes — they all searched for “faculties.” And what didn’t they find — in those innocent, rich, still youthful times of the German spirit, into which Romanticism, the malicious fairy, breathed her magic and sang her songs, back then

when they still did not know how to distinguish “finding” from “inventing”! Above all a faculty for the “supersensible”: Schelling christened it intellectual intuition and thus accommodated the heartiest cravings of his fundamentally piety-craving Germans (13- 14)

Of course Nietzsche could have arrived at these formulations entirely on his own, and they do include his signature dig at German piety. However, Schopenhauer had been saying this for several decades and had christened it the “period of dishonesty.” Moreover, this section of BGE is found in the chapter titled “On the Prejudices of Philosophers,” making it likely that Nietzsche deferred to Schopenhauer, without of course acknowledging him, and this is understandable since Schopenhauer has the superior knowledge of Romanticism and a greater stake in ensuring that Kant’s writings are neither corrupted nor eclipsed by pseudosagicity. If one wanted to be really unkind, one could say that Nietzsche renarrated Schopenhauer’s insightful criticism of

Kant and the post-Kantians in much the same manner that Schelling, according to Schopenhauer, renarrated Kant’s position on human freedom with such finesse that Schelling was regarded as the author. In an unpublished fragment from the period of Beyond Nietzsche has this to say:

“Kant’s nonsense with ‘appearance.’ And where he does not find an explanation, positing a faculty! It was this event that launched the great Schelling-swindle” (KSA 11: 273, 26[461]).1

Whatever Nietzsche’s reasons may have been for not crediting Schopenhauer regarding the phenomenon of spawning post-Kantians, we know that Nietzsche already in Birth of Tragedy took his own independent path and did not ground his argument on either Kant or Schopenhauer.

Tom Bailey argues that Nietzsche “endorses and employs idealist positions only for therapeutic or cultural reasons, rather than for strictly theoretical ones,” and he cites BoT § 4 in which

Nietzsche refers to his primal unity as his metaphysical assumption, a metaphysical comfort and an illusion (Bailey 137). John Wilson has documented Nietzsche’s interest in and use of

Schelling and Schopenhauer at the time of his Basel lecture on the Platonic dialogues in 1871-72,

6 and he remarks in particular on Nietzsche’s “very ironic” use of the term “intellectual intuition,” which is not used as Schopenhauer uses it. “Very ironically Nietzsche uses Schopenhauer’s words against him, in order to illustrate a difference between real intuition and mere thinking, which is reminiscent especially of late Schelling. The question arises whether perhaps Nietzsche did not only have a conscious relationship to Schellingian philosophy, but also wanted to keep this relationship hidden—for instance behind Schopenhauer” (Wilson 73-4). On this view

Schopenhauer is the mask not for Nietzsche himself, but for Nietzsche’s secretive reliance on

Schelling.

Nietzsche’s expression “primal unity,” das Ur-Eine, while debuting as a technical component of his argument regarding the Dionysian experience, nonetheless has historical footing already in Heraclitus, as explained by Geuss in his introduction to BoT: “what Nietzsche calls das Ur-Eine (‘the primordially One’) (passim), is itself a kind of artist. In an image taken over from Heraclitus (fragment 52 [Diels-Kranz]; The Birth of Tragedy § 24; GM II.16)

Nietzsche writes that this primordial unity is like a child playing in the sand on the beach, wantonly and haphazardly creating individuated shapes and forms and then destroying them, taking equal pleasure in both parts of the process, in both creation (Apollo) and destruction

(Dionysos) (Geuss xxiv). Note that Geuss uses two terms for das Ur-Eine, namely the

“primordially One” and later “the primordial unity,” which at a later point in his translation becomes upper case Primordial Unity (105). Wilson traces the primal unity to Hesiod’s

Theogony, to which Nietzsche had alluded in “Homer’s Contest.” “But Nietzsche points even further back than the time of the Titans, where Hesiod’s air, already ‘hard’ to breathe, was

‘thickened and darkened’ by the admixture of ‘dark lasciviousness’ of the Etruscans. According to Schelling the doctrine of the ‘melancholy’ Etruscans concerning their god Janus has

7 essentially the same content as the Hesiodian chaos as the divine night from which all gods originate and into which they again disappear” (218). Here Wilson picks up the thread that

Schopenhauer had raised in PPII using the Janus footnote, namely Schelling’s equation of Janus with chaos. Wilson also points to a possible Plato connection, because Hesiod’s chaos as the

“divine ground” is related to Plato’s apeiron, the boundless, “as the nonresistant

[widerstandslose], invisible-material substratum of the Ideas, of pure forms” (318). Soll likewise points out that the primal unity “was woven together [by Nietzsche] from Schopenhauer’s doctrine of the primal unity of reality and Plato’s doctrine of the forms, along with Plato’s rejection of the value of art on metaphysical and epistemological grounds, which depends on his theory of the forms” (175-76). Another ancient source for the primal unity would be the veil of maya, at least in juxtaposition, because as Soll explains, “Schopenhauer had used the Indian notion of the ‘veil of Maya’ to represent the illusory character of the world we experience repeatedly in WWR; Nietzsche uses it in section 1, 2 and 18 of BT. The term ‘primordial unity’

(see BT 4-6) is Nietzsche’s, but the idea that it is the true nature of the world is taken from

Schopenhauer” (173). I grant the validity of Soll’s second assertion, that the idea is

Schopenhauer’s, but establishing the ownership or authorship of “primal unity” is not as straight- forward as Soll suggests. It is quite possible that Nietzsche took Schopenhauer’s adaptation of

Schelling’s die Ureinheit based on his reading of Parerga II, and it is equally possible that he took it directly from Schelling, either because he was using Schelling as an unacknowledged source during the early Basel period, or because Schopenhauer’s reference reminded him of the

Janus-chaos connection.

Nietzsche’s friend Erwin Rohde defended him against the attacks of Wilamowitz-

Möllendorff, and he went on to publish Psyche in 1893, a work that “took up the category of the

Dionysian” according to Paul Bishop: “Following closely Nietzsche’s account of the Dionysian orgy, Rohde went beyond Nietzsche to argue that primitive immortality cults had developed from the mystical, primordial unity which was experienced in these rituals. This kind of spiritual monism or psychic pantheism which Rohde attributes to the Greeks is very close both to

Schelling’s notion of the Absolute and Jung’s notion of the collective psyche” (371). So Bishop, too, recognizes “primal unity” as a broader concept than Nietzsche’s, having its special

Nietzschean expression in Tragedy and even in later Nietzschean works, but essentially enjoying a universal status as suggested by its importance to ancient cults and its formulation by Schelling and Jung. We could add Goethe to this list of possible antecedents, inasmuch as his Urphänomen or ur-phenomenon would accommodate a concept such as “primal unity,” das Ur-Eine, and in

Goethe’s time Johann Kaspar Lavater, for a time a collaborator of Goethe’s, actually used the term “Ur-Eins” in a poetic fragment, referring to religion as “magical power to form oneself an eternal primal unity” (Vermischte Gedichte p. 78).

Still, the tendency in Nietzsche scholarship is to ascribe authorship of the concept “primal unity” to Nietzsche, while acknowledging its conceptual debt to Schopenhauer as an alternative or parallel expression of the will. James Porter summarizes this tendency when he writes: “not even the so-called ‘primal unity,’ that curious entity postulated by Nietzsche and seemingly invented ad hoc as a grotesque calque on the (already bizarre) Schopenhauerian Will, can have an immediate intuition of itself” (Porter 73). It is interesting to note that Porter uses the words

“grotesque calque” to describe “primal unity,” because a calque is a trace or a copy, and it refers to a word-for-word transference of a word from one language to another, as in English sky scraper to German Wolkenkratzer — Porter has to stretch to posit a calque between

Schopenhauer’s Will and Nietzsche’s primal unity, hence the qualifier “grotesque.” But we take

9 his point that Schopenhauer’s Will functions in a manner similar to Nietzsche’s primal unity, such that primal unity in a sense traces or copies Will. Geuss has his own formulation for this relationship between Will and primal unity: “The ‘reality’ of which our empirical world is an appearance is what Schopenhauer calls ‘the Will’ and we can have non-empirical access to it it in our own willing . . . Since this ‘will’ is by definition outsie the realm within which one can speak of individuation and the distinctness of one ‘thing’ from another, it has a kind of primordial unity” (17).

Aside from the fact that Janus was a favorite of Nietzsche and inspired him to name the fourth book of The Gay Science “Sanctus Januarius,” there is no mention in his writings of

Schelling’s lecture on the significance of Janus, and more specifically, there is no acknowledgement by Nietzsche that Schelling in 1842 had equated Janus with chaos, thereby elevating the deity and adding considerable heft both to Janus and to the concept of chaos.

Nietzsche assigned chaos to the realm of the primal unity and associated it with Dionysus, whereas the world of order, measure, and individuation was associated with Apollo. Because

Nietzsche was focused on tragedy as an art form derived from the worship of Dionysus, his dualities had to map onto Apollo and Dionysus, such that Apollo represents culture, consciousness, individuation, semblance, order, stasis, plastic art, knowledge, and mind, while

Dionysus represents nature, unconsciousness, primal unity, reality, chaos, dance, music, art, and body — there is no room in this equation for Janus. The primal unity possessed for Nietzsche the status of the Kantian thing in itself, and Nietzsche spoke of it using several related expressions: primal ground, innermost ground of the world, truly existing subject, eternal core of things (Del

Caro 58-59). But his adoption of the term das Ur-Eine need not be strictly limited to a technical term that he required for the Dionysian experience, as we saw in the examples above, and this

10 can be further demonstrated by glancing briefly at Schelling’s understanding of Janus in the ancient (Greek and Italic) imagination.

First, however, a brief detour is needed regarding the matter of Nietzsche’s hyphenization of the term. We saw Schopenhauer refer in his narrative on Sanskrit literature to Janus as “das

Ur-Eins,” hence with hyphen, neuter grammatical gender, but Eins, not Eine; yet in the footnote on the same sentence he correctly uses Schelling’s spelling of Ureinheit, non-hyphenated and feminine grammatical gender (442). Why does Schopenhauer assign a hyphen to this concept, and why does he ignore the precise word and gender used by Schelling, as if it made no difference, or as if he were “correcting” Schelling? In the numerous passages of BoT in which

Nietzsche references the primal unity, always using the same hyphenated, neuter grammatical gendered expression, das Ur-Eine is often surrounded by other nouns with the ur prefix, but they are never hyphenated: Urbegierde (§ 4), Urwiderspruch and Urschmerz (§6), Urfreude and

Urheimat (§ 22). Clearly German does not call for a hyphen with the use of ur or other prefixes, and it was Nietzsche’s choice to add a hyphen to das Ur-Eine, just as it was Schopenhauer’s choice to add a hyphen to das Ur-Eins. Curiously, in Wilamowitz-Möllendorff’s blistering attack on BoT as “Zunkunfstphilologie,” lampooning Nietzsche’s “philology of the future” by tying it to Wagnerian “music of the future,” Wilamowitz finds no particular fault with the concept of das

Ur-Eine, but he does rewrite it as das ureine, i.e., he removes the hyphen (41). For the moment the only things I can safely conclude from this selective hyphenization is that Nietzsche wanted his term to appear new, and that Schopenhauer and Nietzsche both preferred hyphens and the stem eins to express notions of primal unity or primal oneness, whereas Schelling clearly preferred the word Einheit, unity.

The Theogony of Hesiod figures prominently in Schelling’s account of Janus, because the mythological process spawned the first philosophy: “The Theogony of Hesiod is the work of the first philosophy to arise from mythology itself” (462). The intellectual state that enables this birth of philosophy from the spirit of mythology, to borrow a phrase from Nietzsche’s title on tragedy, was perceived by Hesiod “as absolutely permeable, nonresistant unity and depth, only in a manner of speaking as divine abyss” or chaos (Schelling, 462). It is this Einheit (unity) that

Schelling will henceforth refer to as die Ureinheit (primal unity) when he emphasizes its chaotic nature. He argues next that Janus is too significant a figure to not be mentioned simultaneously with chaos, and so he summarizes: “But Janus is a specific formation of chaos” (465).

Elaborating further, chaos is not a physical unity of merely material powers, but a metaphysical unity of spiritual powers; moreover, Roman mythology as largely parallel with Greek mythology constitutes progress insofar as “the primal unity no longer had its moments merely as chaos, but instead to be sure as chaos with differentiation. Accordingly Janus would really be the personified concept of chaos, so to speak, i.e., its completely specific concept” (466-7). Schelling further elevates Janus by making him not just another god in the pantheon, but the “source” and

“unity of the entire world of the gods,” the “god of gods” (479-1): “He is, as mentioned, the primal unity and source of all gods” (472).

I have ventured into some of the details of Schelling’s use of “chaos,” “Janus,” and

“primal unity” to demonstrate that there is sufficient substance here to have appealed to

Nietzsche’s imagination. Schelling assigns a primary position to Janus in relation to mythology, one that philosophizes out of the concept of chaos. If Janus is the primal unity and source of all the gods, he functions in a manner similar to Nietzsche’s primal unity (also known as chaos), which has the power to create out of itself; this leads Nietzsche to reason that humans are not the

12 creators of art, but only the vehicles for the creation of art, hence artistic projections of the primal unity. This in turn leads to Nietzsche’s famous aesthetic statement that “existence and the world are eternally justified only as an aesthetic phenomenon” (Del Caro 61).

Returning now to Payne’s translation of Schopenhauer and Schelling in their use of das

Ur-Eins and die Ureinheit respectively, we see that a closer knowledge of Nietzsche’s das Ur-

Eine would have cleared the way for a better translation. The process of working backwards into intellectual history can be very constructive for translation theory and practice, as seen in the case of Schopenhauer, whose works are now being translated into English under the general editorship of Christopher Janaway. In the editor’s preface to a recent volume of the Cambridge edition of Schopenhauer’s works, Janaway observes: “There has recently been a dramatic rise in philosophical interest in the period that immediately follows Kant (including the German

Idealists and Romanticism), and the greater centrality now accorded to Nietzsche’s philosophy has provided further motivation for attending to Schopenhauer”(Janaway, Fourfold, viii). As we move backwards in time from Nietzsche to Schopenhauer, it will emerge that terms and expressions made popular by Nietzsche, but borrowed or appropriated by him from earlier thinkers like Schopenhauer, Schelling, and Goethe will have to be sounded out and tested on the basis of key issues and questions: Is Nietzsche’s term, say das Ur-Eine, a coinage, or is there a valid reason to define the term in accordance with theoretical antecedents? When Nietzsche uses

Wille as in der Wille zur Macht, is he proposing a new will deriving internally from his “own”

Dionysian world view, or is he superimposing Schopenhauer’s will onto a new framework? In the case of the famous expression Übermensch, why does Nietzsche suppress the fact that

Goethe had used this term in association with Faust, despite the fact that quoting from Faust was a favorite ploy of Nietzsche’s? Of course these either/or questions to some extent must be

13 answered in the affirmative on both counts — there are aspects of coinage to Nietzsche’s terms, as well as aspects of intertextual borrowing. In any case we would do well to observe the caveat issued by Janaway in advance of the work undertaken by his team of translators: “In the present edition the translators have striven to keep a tighter rein on philosophical terminology, especially that which is familiar from the study of Kant — though we should be on our guard here, for

Schopenhauer’s use of a Kantian word does not permit us to infer that he uses it in a sense Kant would have approved of” (Janaway, p. ix). Another way to frame the problem of Nietzsche’s borrowings from Romanticism in particular is to use as a starting point Wilson’s observation regarding Schelling and Nietzsche: “That Schelling or Nietzsche for example mention the same myths as Creuzer is not surprising. It is the philosophical interpretation that makes a difference”

(83).

Works Cited

Bailey, Tom. “Nietzsche the Kantian?” In The Oxford Handbook of Nietzsche. Ed. Ken Gemes and John Richardson. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2013. 134-59.

Bishop, Paul. The Dionysian Self. C. G. Jung’s Reception of Friedrich Nietzsche. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1995/2010.

Del Caro, Adrian. “The Birth of Tragedy.” In A Companion to Friedrich Nietzsche: Life and Works. Ed. Paul Bishop. Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2011. 54-79.

Geuss, Raymond. Introduction in The Birth of Tragedy and Other Writings. Ed. Raymond Geuss and Ronald Speirs, trans. Ronald Speirs. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1999. vii-xxx.

Janaway, Christopher. General editor’s preface. In Arthur Schopenhauer. On the Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason. On Vision and Colours. On Will in Nature. Trans. and ed. David Cartwright, Edward Erdmann, Christopher Janaway. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2012. vii-ix.

Lavater, Johann Kaspar. Vermischste Gedichte . In Johann Kaspar Lavaters Nachgelassene Schriften. Ed. Georg Gessner. Zürich: Füβll und Companie, 1801. Vol. 3.

Nietzsche, Friedrich. Die Geburt der Tragödie. In Kritische Studienausgabe. Ed. Giorgio Colli und Mazzino Montinari. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1988. Vol. 1 of 15. (KSA)

Nietzsche, Friedrich. Jenseits von Gut und Böse. Zur Genealogie der Moral. In Kritische Studienausgabe. Ed. Giorgio Colli und Mazzino Montinari. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1988. Vol. 5 of 15.

Nietzsche, Friedrich. Nachgelassene Fragmente 1884-1885. KSA 11.

Porter, James I. “Nietzsche and Tragedy.” In A Companion to Tragedy. Ed. Rebecca Bushnell. Oxford: Blackwell, 2005.

Schelling, F. W. J. Philosophie der Mythologie. In Schellings Werke. Ed. Manfred Schröter. München: C. H. Beck und R. Oldenbourg, 1943. Supplemental volume 5.

Schopenhauer, Arthur. Parerga and Paralipomena. Short Philosophicals Essays. Trans E. F. J. Payne. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000. Vol. 2.

Schopenhauer, Arthur. Parerga und Paralipomena II: kleine philosophische Schriften. In Arthur Schopenhauer. Zürcher Ausgabe. Werke in zehn Bänden. ed. Arthur Hübscher. Zürich: Diogenes, 1977. Vol. X.

Schopenhauer, Arthur. The Two Fundamental Problems of Ethics. Trans. and ed. Christopher Janaway. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2009.

Schopenhauer, Arthur. The World as Will as Representation. Trans. and ed. Judith Norman, Alistair Welchman, Christopher Janaway. Introduction by Christopher janaway. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2010. Vol. 1.

Soll, Ivan. “Schopenhauer as Nietzsche’s ‘Great Teacher’ and ‘Antipode.’” In The Oxford Handbook of Nietzsche.

Tritten, Tyler. Beyond Presence: The Late F. W. J. Schelling’s Criticism of Metaphysics. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012.

Wilson, John Elbert. Schelling und Nietzsche. Zur Auslegung der frühen Werke Friedrich Nietzsches. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1996.

1 The Nachlaβ also contains a discarded version of BGE § 11 under the heading “Anti-Kant,” which uses some of the same language as the published version but provides greater historical coverage; see note 34[82] in KSA 11:445.

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